Breakfast
by I.Weave.Dreams
Summary: Sherlock tries to make John breakfast in bed. Sherlock can't cook. These are the results.


**Author's note: I was given this as a prompt on tumblr and here is the result. If you have any Sherlock prompts you want filled, my tumblr link is on my profile, so feel free to message me a prompt!**

**Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own.**

John woke up to the sound of the smoke detector going off. He glanced at the space next to him on the bed and saw that it was empty. He quickly threw off the covers, part of his brain worrying for Sherlock, wondering where he was and if he was alright, and the other part cursing Sherlock, knowing he was probably perfectly fine and had just set off the alarm again because one of his experiments had gone wrong…Or right.

He jogged out of the bedroom to find the rest of the flat covered in a thin veil of smoke. He pressed his hand over his mouth and nose, squinting as he spotted Sherlock in the kitchen, his movements slightly erratic. "Open the bloody windows, Sherlock," John called as he made his way into the living room to do just that.

This was not the first time John had been woken out of his slumber because Sherlock set off the smoke alarm. In fact, he'd actually lost count. John picked a magazine off the coffee table and began waving it under the smoke alarm. The alarm was ear piercing, especially being so close, but finally, it shut off.

John threw the magazine back onto the table with more force than was necessary. Irritation coursed through him as he walked towards the kitchen. "Sherlock, it is 5:30 in the morning, what the hell-"

John's words got stuck in his throat as he took in the sight before him. Sherlock stood in the center of the kitchen, wearing a pair of black slacks and a forest-green button-down shirt. Over it he wore an apron that had little magnifying glasses and pipes on it that John had gotten him as a gag-gift a while back. And he was covered in flour from head to toe.

John saw that he had little black smudges on his face and hands as well. In one of those hands he was holding a spatula. John looked to the stove. There was a large black pot on one of the burners, and an iron wok on the other. He saw smoke rising from both. The counter was just as bad off as Sherlock was. There were broken egg shells, measuring cups, and some strange goo was everywhere.

Sherlock blinked back at John, looking slightly dazed. John walked forward hesitantly. He picked his foot up when he heard a crunch. He shook the egg shell off and continued forward. "Sherlock, what on Earth are you doing?" John was too stunned to be mad at the moment.

Sherlock's eyes floated around the kitchen, and John momentarily wondered if he'd somehow obtained illegal narcotics, and had taken all of them at once. "I…I tried to make waffles…I wanted to make you breakfast in bed. I'm not sure how this happened…"

John narrowed his eyes. He'd /never/ seen Sherlock like this before. He looked like a bewildered little boy who'd gotten into the pantry when his parents weren't looking. "Sherlock…Sherlock are you /high/?" John asked.

Quick as that Sherlock's gaze became sharp as a whip. "Don't be ridiculous, John. If you took a moment to observe, you'd see that I'm not. Clearly"

John cocked an eyebrow. "I am observing," he said pointedly.

"Hilarious," Sherlock retorted. He looked away from John then and began brushing off his sleeves.

And that's when Sherlock's words sank in. "Wait," John began, a smile starting to spread over his face. "You did all this…for me?"

"Yes, John. I just said that. Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock brushed his hand roughly down the front of his shirt, not looking up. He sounded sour.

John just grinned wider. He reached forward and grabbed Sherlock's hands to still them. Sherlock's eyes were defensive, as if he was waiting for John to make fun of his catastrophic failure.

"What were you trying to make?" John asked softly.

Sherlock hesitated momentarily before saying, "Waffles."

John looked over at the stove. "With a pot?" John peaked into it. It was filled with water and contained the same goo that was all over the counters and walls.

"The recipe called for a pan, but I thought boiling them might make them taste better," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"And the iron wok? You do know I use that to make Chinese on Fridays, don't you…?"

Sherlock's lips twitched into a sheepish smile. "I couldn't find the pans."

"Oh, Sherlock," John cooed lovingly and smiled, shaking his head. He brought a hand up to Sherlock's hair and ruffled it softly. A flurry of white flour came fluttering down from it. Sherlock's nose scrunched up, and he turned his head to the side and sneezed. When he looked back at John, his nose was red and his eyes were watery.

John licked his thumb and rubbed the smudges of black off of Sherlock's face. He went to the sink to wet a rag, and brought it back to wipe off Sherlock's hands and arms. "Sorry," Sherlock said after a minute of John cleaning him up. John's eyes flashed up in shock. Sherlock almost /never/ apologized. "You're always cooking for me, although admittedly I usually never eat it, but regardless, I wanted to make you something. And all I've done is make a mess."

"It's okay, Love," John said. Sherlock looked at him doubtfully. John chuckled. "Really, I mean it. I know you tried, and it's the thought that counts, isn't it?" He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's.

"C'mon," John nodded his head words the pantry. "Let's make some waffles together."

They dumped the pot and put the wok in the sink, pushing everything else around to make room, momentarily leaving the mess. John named off ingredients and Sherlock fetched them for him. He showed Sherlock where the pots were located, and then had him crack the eggs into a bowl. He let Sherlock measure out the flour, and they had a minor mishap when Sherlock sneezed again, sending the flour all over John.

When the batter was ready, John gave Sherlock a spoon to taste it before they put it into the waffle press. Ignoring the spoon, Sherlock dipped his finger in the batter and wiped the dollop on John's nose. He then leaned forward to lick it off. Sherlock pressed his lips to John's, their tongues mingling so that John could taste it as well.

John smiled, looking up at Sherlock. "Perfect."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! What did you think?<strong>


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